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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563900">the ichor that resides in me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/onegaymore/pseuds/onegaymore'>onegaymore</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Greek Mythology AU, M/M, Oops, hades!javert, persephone!valjean, very much inspired by the hadestown versions of hades and persephone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:55:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,033</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/onegaymore/pseuds/onegaymore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Strange, in these thousands of years he couldn't remember the las time he'd been happy."</p><p>a valvert au inspired by the myth of hades and persephone</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Javert/Jean Valjean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sewerchat Anniversary Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the ichor that resides in me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseclare0000/gifts">roseclare0000</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title is from Persephone to Hades by Nikita Gill</p><p>thank you so much for requesting this rose, i love this au idea and i had an awesome time writing it!!</p><p>no beta we die like men</p><p>edit: there were a couple of issues with the formatting on this, it should all be ok now though!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Valjean had worked in the gardens since he was young. He was still young, compared to his mother, but compared to the villagers around them he was as old as the rivers and the trees. The village children had nicknamed him The Sun, for his golden eyes and skills with flowers and immortality. They were blessed with beautiful weather, bountiful harvests and colourful flowers all year round- when they tried to worship him, he would simply smile and say that there were never any flowers without rain. When rain did come, however, it was in pleasant showers that fed the fields and the streams without ever causing floods. With Valjean's kind words and hands, the stories the elders told of cruel winters were just that: stories. </p><p>The day he met Javert was a beautiful day in early March. The fields were lit up with a kaleidoscope of colours from flowers just coming into bloom. Valjean's garden was alive with music from the birds and insects. As he walked, Valjean trailed his hands through a patch of flowers that hadn't grown as tall as their neighbours. Like obedient servants, they came alive at his touch. Spring had always been his favourite season for that reason- every thing was just so alive. The world was overflowing with possibilities. </p><p>***</p><p>Javert didn't come to the gardens often. The scent of flowers was too sickly and sweet for his taste, the sunlight and birdsong even more irritating. He preferred his world below, a cold world of steel and iron. The constant tapping noise of the hammers was comforting to him, after all these years. It was the sound of home.<br/>
Occasionally, though, Javert would go up. He liked to walk in the orchards on cold days, watching the garish winter sunlight filter through the trees. In autumn, he would stand and let the scent of the fallen leaves drown him. His wooden heart found an odd sense of belonging amongst the trees. His visits were few and far between, however, and mostly at night; the children were taught to fear him before they could talk. For as long as he could remember (which was forever, really) his image had been entwined with that of death. People ran away when they saw him, so he tended to avoid them, more out of inconvenience than anything else. They were either ignorant of the fact that he could not control when or how people died, or they simply didn't care.<br/>
His rare visits tended to fade out in the summer. The hot air was unpleasant on his skin, used as he was to the cold and dark of his home. This particular trip was a rarity, as he tried to absorb the last dregs of winter. He had to admit to himself, this daytime outing was partly out of curiosity. </p><p>Demeter had always been protective over her son, sheltering him from the other Gods, choosing to live with him in the mortal world instead. Javert had heard rumours about this man from the dead. They spoke of him in awe, as a benevolent force directing the plants and the weather in peaceful harmony. Javert tried not to be intrigued, but he was finding that harder and harder these days. As much as he loved his underground world, it could be oppressive at times. Not to mention lonely. He pushed this thought out of his mind. He was the Ling of the Underworld, for heavens' sake, he didn't get lonely. </p><p>The weak spring sun was just beginning to slip beneath the tree line when Javert rose up from the ground. Cold as the earth still was, it bend itself around him like molten lava. With his tall boots and greatcoat, he towered like the ancient oaks around him. The few birds remaining in the forest fled at the sight of him. Pleased, as always, with this affect, he strode forwards. </p><p>There was someone lying on the ground in the forest. With his dark skin and clothes he almost blended in with the soil. Only his shock of white hair marked him as a man. Well, not a man exactly. Even from this distance, Javert could tell that this man wasn't mortal. He crept closer, as quietly as possible so as not to disturb this mysterious god of nature. The twigs which would have broken under his feet silently moved out of the way, as if even they were fearful of this man of stone. </p><p>He was quiet, but not quiet enough. Before Javert was close enough to see the man's face, it was turned suddenly towards him, and a deep voice said softly "Who is there?"<br/>
Javert cleared his throat and awkwardly moved out from behind the tree which had been his shelter. "Just me. I'm Javert."<br/>
"I know!" he grinned, sitting upright, "I've heard stories about you. I thought you'd be taller, somehow."<br/>
"Well, if I were a betting man, I'd put all my gold on the fact that I'm still taller than you." said Javert, sitting down carefully so as not to damage his expensive clothing.<br/>
"I'd take that bet.," he lay down again, "I'm Valjean, by the way. It's nice to meet you."<br/>
"Likewise." Javert lay down too, uncertain as to quite what he was hoping to achieve, "I've heard stories about you too, you know."<br/>
"Really? I didn't know they told stories in the- where you're from." he almost looked embarrassed.<br/>
"In the underworld?" Javert scoffed, "Of course we do. I may have a reputation as a stern ruler, but I always try to be fair. It would be grossly inhumane to deprive souls of the joys if storytelling, even after death."</p><p>There were a few moments of silence, as they lay on their backs and watched the golden sunlight fade into blue through the gaps in the trees. The birdsong had died down and the only noises were the sounds of insects and the wind whistling through the forest. Ordinarily at this time of year the evening would have grown cold, but the air around Valjean remained pleasantly warm. Javert felt himself lulled into sleepiness by the softness of the ground and the noise of the forest creatures settling in for the night. It was well and truly into the night when Valjean spoke. </p><p>"Can you show me?"</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>The Underworld was warmer than Valjean had expected. All the stories that mortals had told had given him ideas about ice statues and eternal winters, but really the fires of the factories created an atmosphere that was almost cosy. It was comforting, like the feeling of being indoors by the fireplace on a frosty evening. Valjean looked at everything around him with eager curiosity. He'd led a very sheltered life so far, really; Demeter, his mother, was fiercely protective of him. Usually he took it as a sign of love, but recently it had begun to feel stifling. </p><p>They crossed an iron bridge high above the assembly lines. Beneath them, thousands of souls were at work, hammering and gluing seemingly endless amounts of iron and steel. The air was thick with the scent of coal and smoke, and filled with the sounds of metal clashing against stone. Occasionally, one worker would shout something to another; there seemed to be a pleasant sort of camaraderie between them. The conditions they worked in didn't seem all that nice to Valjean, who had spent his entire life in the fields and gardens, but they all seemed happy enough. It seemed that Javert was a fair leader and employer.</p><p>Eventually, they came to what appeared to be Javert's office. It was far from what Valjean had expected- sparsely furnished, with no decoration other than a small bouquet of flowers in a glass vase on the desk. Behind this desk was a wall entirely made of glass. This window looked out over what seemed to be the entire Underworld; immediately below them, a cliff face stretched down to a city street, miles and miles of skyscrapers and cars and lights almost as far as the eye could see. Beyond the city, on the horizon, a large mountain range was visible, dusty in the red light. It was beautiful. It felt like home. </p><p>There was a cough from behind him. It startled him, and he turned around. Javert looked slightly sheepish.<br/>
"Do you like it?"<br/>
Valjean took Javert's hands in his. (Ordinarily he would never have behaved in this way so soon after meeting the man. The Underworld had brought out a new, impulsive side of him. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling.) "I love it."<br/>
This sentiment seemed much too simple, but he was unsure how to express himself and be understood. How could a leader as strong as Javert understand the discontent he felt? Why would Javert, who had lived his whole life in training for a role for which he was so well suited, understand that Valjean was tired of his place in the world? For he was tired. As beautiful as his flowers were, after thousands of years they began to grow tedious. Sometimes he envied the mortals; they appreciated the flowers more as they had less time with them. He felt like he was missing out, somehow, by being deprived of that bittersweet feeling; the feeling that the reason life is so precious and beautiful is simply because it ends. Being immortal, he felt, slightly took away from the whole experience. </p><p>***</p><p>There was a strange warmth in Javert's chest. It took a moment for him to realise that it was happiness. Strange, in these thousands of years he couldn't remember the last time he'd been happy. At least, not this happy. </p><p>He and Valjean had walked for hours, talking endlessly about nature and love and everything else under the sun- and a fair few things above it too. Eventually, they reached a small grassy patch at the foot of the mountains, on the banks of the river. Valjean had repeatedly expressed his awe at the mighty river Styx. Javert supposed he had grown used to it after so much time, but through Valjean he was able to appreciate its power and beauty, just as he had as a child. Javert was beginning to think that he'd like to keep Valjean around. </p><p>It was the end of the day, and a distant chatter could be heard as the workers returned to their homes from the factories and mines. The sun- not the true sun, it was an imitation that Javert had installed in order to make the transition into the strange underworld easier for the souls- was setting, casting a pleasantly cool light over the land. The rushing of the river was calming, and for the second time that day (time moved differently under the ground) he found himself falling asleep at Valjean's side. It was astounding, this sense of easy comfort so soon after meeting the man. Once again, their hands had drifted towards each other as they sat, so that Valjean's fingers were loosely entwined around Javert's.<br/>
"It's funny," Valjean said softly, staring longingly at the river, "I never thought I could feel such an attachment to a place after such a short time."<br/>
"I was just thinking the same thing." Javert's eyes were fixed on Valjean's face, on his strong cheekbones and soft white hair. His eyes were averted at that moment, but Javert knew what they looked like- like liquid gold, a bottomless pit to lose himself in forever.<br/>
Valjean sighed. "I have could stay here forever"<br/>
"Then why don't you?" Javert didn't know what had made him say it. There was something about the light, and the water, and the company that made him feel like he was truly at home for the first time in as long as he could remember. "Stay here with me. It'll be far easier to rule this place with two of us."<br/>
Valjean sat up, running a hand through his hair, "Do you really think I could? I don't know how my mother would cope without me."<br/>
"She managed before you were born." Javert pointed out.<br/>
"True," he sighed, then turned to Javert and grinned mischievously, "Okay. Let's do it."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ok so. it doesn't finish there and i fully plan on writing another chapter. but life is busy and complicated so idk if/when that will happen sorry :/</p></blockquote></div></div>
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